


Forever Young

by RudyRed34



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Diamond City, Gen, Goodneighbor, Multi, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Parenthood, Polyamory, Post-Quest, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudyRed34/pseuds/RudyRed34
Summary: (Spoilers for the end of the main questline.)Sometimes what seems like the "right" thing to comes back to bite you in the ass later. Sometimes there is no "right" thing to do - just an array of more and less shitty options. Grace thought she was doing the right thing when she saved the synth simulacrum of young Shaun from the Institute's destruction. But, unsurprisingly, she didn't fully think the decision through. Nick points out the thorny implications of an immortal, eternal child, and now Grace has to decide what her ethical responsibilities are to this Shaun that is-yet-isn't her child.Rated Teen due to a bit o' swearing and non-graphic violence.





	1. Chapter 1

The familiar smells and sounds of Diamond City - fried meat, vendors hawking their items, rust and mud, thin music playing over tinny speakers - washed over Grace as she descended the stairs from the entrance. A security guard headed in the opposite direction smiled at her and nodded respectfully. “Welcome back, ma’am,” he said. Grace smiled and gave a small wave in return.

“Is he a friend of yours, Momma?” came a small voice beside her.

She looked down at the child holding her hand, who stared back up at her with eyes the same pale hazel shade as hers. His other hand rested on the shoulders of Dogmeat, who padded easily down the stairs beside them. Shaun, she reminded herself. This is Shaun, just Shaun. The concept rested more easily in her mind over time, as the sharp edges wore off and left just the maternal instincts. “No, he’s not a friend. I do have friends here, though,” she explained. “You’re going to meet them soon.”

“Then how did he know who you were? Are you famous here?”

From behind her, Grace heard MacCready chuckle; she shot him a dirty look over her shoulder, and he held up his hands and arched his brows disarmingly. “No… not really,” she said to Shaun. “But I did help the security people with something not very long ago. So he probably remembers that.” She declined to provide the details; there was no child-appropriate way to explain that she’d put a bullet in the previous mayor’s head after he’d threatened to go on a deadly rampage. “Now, do you remember what I told you?”

“Don’t tell people I’m from the Institute,” Shaun recited. “Because it will confuse them too much.”

“That’s right.” She gave Shaun’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “One of my friends has a sister about your age, you know.” It took Grace a moment to realize she had no idea if that were true; how long ago had Shaun been constructed? Maybe he had been built only a few months ago, as the Institute realized her path and theirs were likely to cross. Maybe the Director - Shaun - the  _ real _ Shaun... Grace’s train of thought suddenly derailed. That particular edge was still sharp and hurt to touch.

Nat, in her usual spot atop her soapbox, spotted them approaching and waved a copy of  _ Publick Occurrences _ at them. “You’ll really wanna read this edition,” she said. “You’re in it!”

“Only good things, I hope,” MacCready quipped.

“Not  _ you _ ,” Nat shot back, giving MacCready a contemptuous look. “I meant Blue.”

“Augh!” MacCready clutched his chest. “Right in the heart.”

Grace rolled her eyes as she took the paper from Nat. “I’m sure your pride will recover eventually.” She gently guided Shaun forward, saying, “Nat, this is my son, Shaun. Say hi, Shaun.”

The two children eyed each other warily, as children often do upon first meeting. Nat gave Grace a suspicious look. “Is he  _ really _ your kid? Moms are old and you aren’t very old.”

“I see Piper’s charm and good manners run in the family,” MacCready said. Despite his snark, he briefly placed a reassuring hand on the small of Grace’s back.

“She is  _ too _ my mother,” Shaun retorted, clinging possessively to Grace’s arm. “Moms don’t have to be old!”

Nat stared at Shaun a little while longer, re-evaluating in light of his spirited defense. Finally, she shrugged. “Okay, whatever. Want to help me sell papers?”

Shaun looked up at Grace for guidance; while her first instinct was to keep Shaun at her side, she knew he needed to learn how to interact with other children. She nodded, saying, “Go ahead. Nat can show you around. You can take Dogmeat with you too.”

Grabbing a stack of papers from a crate behind her, Nat thrust them into Shaun’s arms, saying, “You gotta do exactly what I say, okay? This is important work. We’re keeping the public informed.” The two kids started off towards the market, Dogmeat trailing behind with his nose to the ground as he searched for dropped scraps of food from the stalls. Grace and MacCready watched them leave for a moment, then entered the  _ Publick Occurrences _ office.

Piper looked up from her desk, where she had been hunched over her notes, and burst into a joyous smile. “Blue! I was wondering when you’d stop by!” she said, sweeping Grace up in a hug and giving her a quick kiss. She gently dug her fingers into Grace’s tightly-curled black hair; she was one of the only people allowed to do that. “Getting a little long - might be time to have John give you a shear.” Piper’s exuberance momentarily banished any lingering anxiety Grace had about Shaun; it was hard to be in a foul mood around her.

“No kiss for me?” MacCready asked as Piper turned to him.

“Keep dreaming, buddy,” Piper retorted, but she pecked him on the cheek as she gave him a hug as well. She stepped back, tucking a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, and gave them both appraising looks; they were fresh off the road, their rifles and packs still slung over their backs. “Well, aren’t you two a couple Wanderers of the Wasteland. Are you here for business or pleasure? Sit down - take off your boots before you track mud everywhere.”

Grace carefully set down her pack and gun against the wall and sat on the threadbare sofa to unlace her boots. “I wanted to see how things were going around here.”

“Boy are they going.” Piper gestured to the folded  _ Publick Occurrences _ that Grace had set on the couch. “I see Nat already hooked you up with the latest edition. The short version: we’re finally holding a general election for mayor.”

Playfully elbowing MacCready, who’d sat next to her on the couch and was similarly removing his shoes, Grace said, “You hear that? You should run - you have the experience.”

“Oh hell no,” MacCready said.

“That’s a  _ terrible _ idea,” Piper said simultaneously. They exchanged glances of amusement and surprise.

“Hey, you two finally agreed on something.” Grace picked up the newspaper and scanned the front page; in typical Piper fashion, it pilloried the city council for not holding elections sooner and called for someone from the “real Diamond City” to become mayor, not someone from the “Upper Stands elite.” She wondered if Piper had anyone specific in mind. Was that what Nat had meant when she said Grace was in this edition? “So who’s in the running?”

Piper, who’d been tidying up the haphazard piles of papers scattered throughout the room, rolled her eyes to the ceiling to think, counting off on her fingers as she spoke. “There’s Geneva - she’s the likely winner, I think, since she’s been doing a decent enough job as interim mayor. Clarence Codman, too - I guess being filthy rich wasn’t enough for him. Sheng Kawolski - ”

“ _ Sheng? _ ” MacCready interrupted. “That precocious little - ” This time he managed to stop himself before the curse came out.

“He says there’s no minimum age requirement to run for mayor... and he’s technically right,” Piper said. She shook her head. “He’s got chutzpah, you gotta give him that. Anyway, the last one is Ellie Perkins - she was a real surprise. I think she’d be a good fit, actually. She might be the one to get the endorsement from  _ Publick Occurrences. _ Though, then Nick would be out a secretary, if she won.”

“Speaking of, how is that bucket of bolts doing nowadays?” Grace asked, setting the paper aside and accepting the lukewarm cup of dandelion-root coffee that Piper offered her. MacCready waved aside his cup and took out a cigarette instead.

Piper shrugged and sipped from the cup that MacCready had refused. “You should ask him yourself - he just got back from his most recent case. I was gonna head over to see him soon, anyway, to get the lowdown.” She took another sip of coffee, a mischievous grin on on her face. “You know… there’s rumors of a write-in campaign for  _ you _ , Blue.”

“Oh, Christ.” Grace buried her face in her hand as MacCready cackled and punched her shoulder, ash falling from his cigarette to the sofa cushion. After a moment, Grace looked up and leveled an accusing finger at Piper. “Do  _ not _ encourage that shit, Piper. Do you hear me? I would make a terrible mayor; I have too much on my plate already with the Minutemen and everything.”

Holding up her hand in a gesture of innocence, Piper shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, Blue, I adore you, but I’m not behind this one. You’ve done a lot for Diamond City; I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

MacCready blew a cloud of smoke into the middle of the room. “Whoever kills the old mayor gets to become the new mayor. Makes sense to me - what?” He blinked, confused by the twin glares of Grace and Piper.

Suddenly, the door banged open, and Nat marched in with Shaun and Dogmeat trailing sheepishly behind. “Piper!” Nat announced in an imperious tone. “Shaun dropped a bunch of newspapers in the lake!” She crossed her arms, awaiting judgment for the guilty.

“Wait, who…?” Piper’s brow furrowed in confusion; then, as she pieced things together, her eyes widened in awe. She looked from Grace, to Shaun, and back to Grace, recognizing the same warm brown skin, the same prominent cheekbones and wide nose. “Blue… is this…?”

Grace’s heart thudded in her chest, and it took several seconds for her tongue to work enough to form words. “There was another reason why I wanted to visit,” she admitted. “Piper… this is Shaun. My son.”

Piper covered her mouth with her hand, her green eyes glittering with emotion. After taking a moment to compose herself, she knelt before Shaun, who still hung back guiltily by the door, and held out her hand. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Piper. Your mother has told me a lot about you.” Slowly, Shaun reached for Piper’s hand and shook it. A grin blossomed on Piper’s face. “You're bigger than I thought you'd be!”

As she watched the tableau, Grace realized MacCready had taken her hand in his. A wave of guilt swamped her until she was almost sick. As far as he knew - as far as almost anyone knew - Shaun was a human child who’d simply had the misfortune to be held captive by the Institute. She hadn’t yet figured out how to explain the truth, how to explain that the old man who’d led the Institute’s reign of terror was actually her baby boy. So she hadn’t explained it. Not yet. She squeezed MacCready’s hand so tightly he cast her a sideways glance to make sure she was okay. She didn’t dare meet his look and instead stared intently at Shaun and Piper.

Shaun was presenting his defense against Nat’s accusation. “I didn’t  _ mean _ to drop them,” he insisted. “The boardwalk was slippery and I lost my balance.”

Piper laughed and shook her head. “Don’t you worry about it. We can always print more.” She tousled Shaun’s hair and stood. “Are you hungry? I think I have some sweets around here. Nat, why don’t you show him some of your toys?”

“But - ” Nat began to protest, but one look from Piper silenced her. She pouted for a bit, but, upon realizing that this was another opportunity to show off, she led Shaun to her nook full of toys and comic books. Dogmeat, freed from his childcare duties, settled down on the floor next to MacCready’s feet.

After ensuring that the children had some snacks to tide them over, Piper joined Grace and MacCready on the couch, forcing them to scoot over so that Grace was smushed between the two. Wordlessly, Piper gathered Grace into another hug; she gestured for MacCready to join them, and Grace found herself enveloped in an intoxicating combination of their scents: tobacco and sweat on one side, leather and cinnamon on the other. “I am so, so happy for you, Blue,” Piper said. She sat back, overcome with a realization. “This would make an amazing story for the paper! The Vault Dweller finally reunited with her child the Institute stole! It would give hope to all the other people who have lost someone.”

Grace gave a tight-lipped smile. “No interviews… not yet. I want Shaun to get more acclimated to the surface; an article in the newspaper about him would be overwhelming.” It wasn't completely a lie. 

Piper nodded in understanding. “Well, at least let's go introduce him to Nick! You wouldn't have found Shaun without his help; he'll be absolutely thrilled.” She hopped to her feet, snatched up her flat cap, and snugged it atop her head.

“We  _ just _ sat down and you already want to head out again?” MacCready griped. “At least let me finish my smoke first, jeez.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, I did just tell you to take your shoes off, huh? Sorry.” Piper plopped back down on the sofa. The adults wordlessly watched the children play for a few minutes; MacCready absently scratched Dogmeat’s neck, the dog’s eyes glazing over with pleasure. Nat and Shaun were acting out a battle between a teddy bear - playing the role of a super mutant - and a toy car that represented an amorphous hero; they couldn’t agree whether it was supposed to be Grace, or Piper, or perhaps the Mistress of Mystery, so it seemed to be all three. The battle was protracted; by the time it wound down, MacCready had already finished his cigarette and dropped the butt into a nearby empty Nuka-Cola bottle, and Grace and Piper had downed the last of their dandelion-root coffee. Now they sat, an arm flung over the back of the sofa here and a leg crossed there, comfortably enjoying each other’s closeness.

Nat looked over at her sister and announced, “I'm hungry.”

“I suppose it is about dinner time, huh?” Piper mused. “Hey, how about we all go to Power Noodles - to celebrate!”

“All right!” Nat needed no further convincing; she leapt up, tugged Shaun to his feet, and bolted for the door. Startled out of his reverie, Dogmeat scrabbled to his feet and watched the adults intently, looking for guidance or reassurance. They headed for the door - which Nat had left wide open in her flight - at a more sedate pace. By the time they reached the noodle stand, Nat was already slurping down a bowl of noodles; Shaun regarded his own bowl with a hint of trepidation, but after he tried a bite his hesitations vanished. 

As MacCready placed his order, Piper suddenly started waving excitedly. “Nick! Nick!” she hollered. “You won’t believe who came to visit!”

Grace looked in the direction of Piper’s attention and spotted a familiar trenchcoat-clad figure ambling towards them. “There’s only one person who gets you that worked up, Piper,” Nick remarked. He nodded in greeting to Grace, his eyes glowing warm amber. “Good to see you again, kid.”

“Likewise, Valentine.”

Nick turned his attention to MacCready. “Not here on business, I hope.”

“None that you need to worry about,” MacCready replied, stirring his noodle bowl with his chopsticks.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line from you before.” Nick spotted Shaun, who sat with his legs dangling from a tall stool, and paused. An inscrutable expression passed over his damaged face, so briefly it might have just been a glitch. “And who’s this?”

Grace took a steadying breath; beside her, Piper was practically vibrating with ill-contained excitement. “Nick, this is my son, Shaun,” Grace said. “Shaun, this is Nick Valentine. He helped me look for you.”

Shaun looked up with a mouthful of noodles; it took him a few seconds to chew and swallow. “You’re a synth!” he said, though there was no accusation in his tone; it was a mere statement of fact.

“So I am,” Nick replied.

“But you’re one of the old synths. I thought the old synths were all dumb, like robots. You act like one of the new synths, the ones that look like people.”

An edge of panic began to rise in Grace’s chest, and her eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening in on this conversation. The way Shaun talked about synths - his guileless familiarity on the topic - would instantly give away his time in the Institute. And who knew how the average Diamond City resident would respond to that, or what kinds of questions that would raise. But no heads were turned their direction; the marketplace had the same low buzz of activity as always.

“Well,” Nick said in the gentle tone he always adopted for speaking to children, “I suppose I’m a special kind of synth.”

Shaun nodded, digesting this information. “Are you a detective, like the Inspector, from the comics?”

“I am. Not as good-looking as the Inspector, maybe.”

Unable to contain her glee any more, Piper squealed, “Isn’t this wonderful, Nick? You did it! _ We _ did it!”

“It sure is something,” Nick said, apparently deep in thought. After a moment, he returned his attention to Grace. “I suppose a congratulations is in order, huh?”

“And a thank-you,” Grace replied. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Nick. Hell, I don’t think I would have  _ survived _ this long without you. I can’t ever thank you enough.” Nick wasn’t the touchy-feely type, so Grace hoped words alone were adequately conveying the depth of her sincerity.

A smile ghosted across Nick’s lips. “The feeling’s mutual, kid.”

Now that greetings and introductions were over, the conversation turned to Nick’s most recent case; Piper wanted a full debriefing so she could write up an article for the paper. Nick was a bit recalcitrant to provide details - to protect the privacy of his client, he said - but he gave Piper enough info to satiate her for the moment. MacCready wandered off to talk shop with Arturo; a few of Nat’s friends from school came up and asked if she and Shaun wanted to play Mirelurk Hunters down by the lake, and the gaggle of children ran off together. Eventually, Piper realized she needed to get back to work on the article she’d been writing when Grace and MacCready first arrived. “Do you wanna come with me, or do you wanna catch up with Nick some more?” she asked Grace, not without a hint of hopefulness. 

Grace glanced at Nick, who jerked his head towards 1st Street. “Let’s walk the bases.”

“I’ll be by later, Piper,” Grace said apologetically. She followed Nick towards first base; as they walked, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his trench coat, removed one, and lit it up. Not for the first time, Grace wondered if he experienced any sort of sensation when he smoked, or if it was just an affectation to make him seem more human. Or maybe it was a relic of the original Nick Valentine. She’d never asked, figuring it would be rude to do so.

They rounded first base and headed towards second. Grace could tell that something was on Nick’s mind, so she waited for him to speak. When he finished his cigarette, he suddenly stopped and turned to her. “Grace, you’ve been a good friend to me, and I respect you,” he said, “so that’s why I’m asking -  _ are you out of your damn mind?” _

The question hit Grace like a sucker-punch to the nose, leaving her confused. “What do you mean?”

Nick leaned in close and lowered his voice. “A child synth? The hell are you thinking?” he hissed tersely.

That was a gut punch. Grace’s face burned and her hands went numb. “What… what makes you think he’s a synth?” she asked in a feeble attempt at defense.

Giving her an incredulous look, Nick said, “I’m a little insulted you think I'm so bad at my job. I did some more digging, trying to piece together the timeline for when Kellogg first took Shaun. I still have his memories to refer back to,” he reminded her, tapping his temple with one metal, skeletal finger. “Kellogg was older - a  _ lot _ older - than he looked when we caught up to him. I’m guessing the Institute was to thank for that.” Nick shook his head with disapproval before continuing. “He took Shaun from you sixty years ago. Which means one of two things: either the Institute also has cryogenic tech and decided to freeze Shaun again after a few years, or the child you have with you is actually a synth replacement.” He paused before delivering the knockout blow. “Given the Institute’s M.O., I’d bet dollars to donuts on the latter. ...And, based on your reaction, you already knew.”

After a few moment’s stunned silence, the shock of Valentine’s accusation wore off - and was quickly replaced by a righteous, protective anger. “Why the hell do you care, Nick?  _ You, _ of all people?” Grace demanded.

“Would you set your emotions aside and  _ think _ for a second?” Nick snapped. He held up his metal hand once more; the setting sun glinted off the bearings in his joints. “Underneath all that flesh and blood, Shaun is  _ this _ . Metal. Mechanical. Which means he can’t grow like a human child. He also can’t get sick or die of old age. He’s stuck in that little kid’s body forever, while everyone around him - all his friends - grow up and enter adulthood around him. They’ll grow old and they’ll die, and he’ll still be a kid, except he’ll be alone.” 

The heat of Grace’s anger quickly cooled as she realized the terrible truth behind what Nick was saying. He paced back and forth for a few seconds, agitated beyond words. He rubbed his chin with one hand, as though feeling the stubble that wasn’t actually there; once again, Grace wondered if the gesture was genuine or affected, and then she wondered whether it ultimately mattered. Finally, Nick turned back to Grace. “Does he know what he is? Christ, does  _ anyone? _ ”

Grace shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t  _ think  _ he does. As far as I know, you and I are the only ones who do. And any survivors from the Institute, maybe.” When Nick frowned, she mounted another defense. “What the hell was I supposed to do, Nick? He begged me to take him with. Everything was going to hell. Should I have just left him to die in the Institute? Is that what you would have done?”

This time, Grace managed to land an effective counter-blow. Nick’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “No. I would have done just what you did.” He cast a rueful smile Grace’s way. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be mad at you - I should be mad at the monster who made him in the first place.” That parting shot stung, but Nick didn’t realize he’d made it.

The wail of a saxophone sounded softly in the distance, then grew louder as an Eyebot approached, followed by a security guard on patrol. Grace and Nick fell silent, listening to the music; a female vocalist was having a call-and-response with the horn section.  _ Come on, baby, and rescue me, _ she begged, and the horns blared a cheery reply. Grace had never heard that one before; Travis must have gotten his hands on new tapes for the radio station. “Evening,” the guard grunted as he passed by, not really caring whether Grace or Nick responded.

When they were alone again, Grace said, “How do I tell Joseph or Piper?  _ Should _ I tell them?”

Nick took out another cigarette and offered one to Grace, even though he knew she’d refuse. “I would, if I were you.” As he lit his cigarette, the orange flame from the lighter briefly illuminated the tangled mess of wires and cables partially visible beneath his cracked face. “You’re going to be facing some big decisions about Shaun in the future - decisions too big to face alone. Even for you. Though… Piper’s not gonna be happy.” He raised his brows with cynical amusement. “You know how she feels about people keeping secrets. Who knows how MacCready will react.”

Grace shook her head. “He won’t be happy either.”

“You know him better than I do,” Nick said mildly; he’d never entirely approved of Grace’s association with MacCready, but was too gentlemanly to raise a fuss about it. Usually. He looked past Grace, down the street, and gestured with his cigarette. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Grace turned to see MacCready strolling towards them, Shaun riding atop his shoulders. “There you are,” he said with an easy smile. “We were getting worried.”

Watching MacCready assume a parental role so easily - and so eagerly - made the guilt weigh even more heavily on Grace. Still, she managed to summon a smile in return. “Why in the world were you worried about me?”

“I thought maybe mirelurks got you,” Shaun explained.

MacCready added, “I tried to tell him that you’re way too tough for any old mirelurks, but he wasn’t having it. So we went to go find you.”

“Well… here I am.” Grace helped Shaun down from MacCready’s shoulders and, licking her thumb, cleaned off a dirt smudge from his cheek - no doubt acquired during his earlier game by the lake.

Nick touched the brim of his fedora. “I’ve taken up enough of your time for today, I think. I’ll see you around.” He gave a curt nod to MacCready, who returned it, and headed towards the glowing Valentine Detective Agency sign before disappearing around the corner.

“What were you two conspiring about?” MacCready asked.

“Nothing important - just catching up,” Grace lied. “Come on, let’s go.” She took Shaun by the hand; MacCready took Shaun’s other hand, and the trio started off, looking for all the world like the ideal family.


	2. Chapter 2

Grace, MacCready, and Shaun stayed in Diamond City for several days, taking advantage of the relatively easy life it had to offer. Grace didn't tell MacCready or Piper the truth about Shaun, or at least not yet; she had no idea how to raise the subject, even though she knew that, the longer she waited, the worse it would be when she ultimately did. She didn't see much more of Nick, either; he was experiencing an uptick in business as people demanded that he take a fresh look at old cases, cases that had gone cold when his investigation lead to signs of Institute interference. Now that the mysterious organization was gone, blown to high hell, there was renewed hope that their victims might finally be found.

A routine settled in: Shaun spent his days at school with the other children of Diamond City, though it soon became obvious that he was far ahead of the rest of the class in many subjects. Mr. Zwicky quickly recruited him as a teaching assistant for math and science. Most mornings Grace listened to Radio Freedom on her Pip-Boy to keep tabs on the activities of the Minutemen; by now they'd developed an impressive network across the Commonwealth, and she rarely needed to personally respond to calls for mobilization anymore. While listening, she repaired tears in her clothing, added improvements to her armor, or cleaned her weapons - whatever was needed to keep her gear in working order. 

Sometimes MacCready kept her company, often while knitting a pair of socks - a skill he'd picked up during the long hours spent staking out targets during past jobs. Other times he went off to Goodneighbor to meet up with “friends” that Grace surmised were old contacts; when he returned from those meetings with new gear, or a satchel full of money, she knew better then to ask for details. Piper, meanwhile, was usually off investigating her latest scoop, and when she wasn't doing that she was busy writing. People were hungrier for information than ever, she said, and it was her duty to supply that information. 

When school let out for the day, Grace met up with Shaun outside the schoolhouse. He was usually brimming with stories to tell her about his day, about what he’d learned and what he’d done with the other children. He was especially curious about the teacher’s assistant, Miss Edna, who as a Miss Nanny robot was completely unlike any synth he’d encountered before. “Sometimes it seems like she’s smart like a person,” he explained to Grace one day as they walked hand in hand. “But other times she says something, and it’s exactly the same thing she said five minutes ago. Like she’s stuck in a loop. So maybe she’s not smart like a person. Do you know, Momma?”

“You know, I don’t actually know how smart Miss Edna is,” Grace admitted. It was something she’d wondered about herself; from what she remembered of the owner’s manual that came with Codsworth, back when she had bought him - how long ago  _ that _ was! - Mr. Handies and Miss Nannies were cleverly programmed to simulate intelligence, but were not actually self-aware. But, after all the conversations she’d had with Codsworth and Miss Edna and similar robots, she wasn’t so sure anymore. They certainly  _ seemed _ to have feelings and aspirations, or at least some of them did; if they were facsimiles, they were as convincing as anything, and Grace had no idea where to draw the line between “exceedingly good facsimile” and the genuine thing. She looked down at Shaun, who trotted contentedly next to her, swinging her hand back and forth. “Shaun, what would you like to be when you grow up?” she asked.

Shaun tilted his head in thought as he looked up at her. “I want to be like Mister Valentine!”

Grace almost tripped over a piece of corrugated metal that covered a puddle, but managed to catch herself. “What do you mean by that?” she said in what she hoped was a casual tone.

“I want to be a detective,” Shaun said, oblivious to Grace’s distress. “You said you wouldn't have found me if it weren't for him. So I’d like help people the way he helped you.”

Grace managed a smile. “That’s a good thing to want, Shaun.”

“Uh-huh,” Shaun replied, no longer really paying attention to the conversation. He was watching two crows fight over a piece of trash nearby. Picking up a pebble near his feet, he tossed it in the crows’ direction, sending them scattering with indignant caws. “Can I go to Gavin’s house? He got an old radio and we were gonna try to fix it.”

“All right, but be home in time for dinner.”

“I will.” With some reluctance, Grace let go of Shaun’s hand and watched as he sprinted away, waving good-bye over his shoulder. Once he was out of sight, she took off her glasses and rubbed her face vigorously in an attempt to calm herself down. Did he perhaps know, on some level, that he was a synth? Was that why he so often asked questions about the differences between synths and humans, or between synths and other robots? She had no idea how she’d know for sure. She did know that she needed a drink.

That evening, Grace managed to escape to the Dugout after foisting Shaun onto MacCready; she had mentioned that it would be nice for them to have a “guy’s night,” and MacCready jumped at the opportunity. Over the radio that sat on the bar, Travis was interviewing Clarence Codman about his campaign for mayor - one in a series of interviews, Travis promised, that would give each candidate the opportunity to make their case. As Codman repeated his promise of “a Brahmin roast on every table,” Nick sidled up next to Grace and set his fedora on the bar. “I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said. When Grace raised her eyebrows questioningly, he explained, “I’m about to head out for a while on another case. I wanted to make sure you got a proper good-bye.”

“You’re planning on coming back, I hope,” Grace said between the final two swigs. This was her third beer of the evening; it was cheap stuff, brewed by the Bobrovs in the back of the establishment, but it went down easily.

“How’s that old saying go? ‘Plan for the worst, hope for the best’?” Nick fiddled with the crown of his fedora. “Anyway, I also wanted to apologize again for going off on you the other day. You’re not to blame for Shaun; you’re just trying to make the best of a bad beat.”

Grace shook her head, partially out of disbelief at how damn genuine Nick could be. “No, you were right; I hadn’t thought things through. And now that I’ve picked this up, I can’t just put it back down. Much as I’d like to.”

“You say that, but I doubt you would if you could.”

A disgusted grunt from behind the bar made them look up. Vadim Bobrov gestured angrily at the radio, which was still broadcasting Codman’s interview. “Can you believe this guy? I never heard someone talk so much and say so little! Feh! You want another one?” he asked Grace, pointing at her bottle.

“If you’d be so kind.” Grace cast an entreating glance at Nick. “I’m assuming they don’t do anything for you, but wanna have a parting drink with me anyway?”

“For you? Anything,” Nick said with a lopsided smile. He gestured to Vadim to bring two beers over. 

As Vadim set the fresh bottles in front of them, he said, “I tell you, I don't like any of these clowns running for mayor. They all stink.”

“What about Geneva? Hasn't she been doing a pretty good job so far?” Grace asked. She was more than happy to talk politics if it meant Nick wouldn't bring up Shaun again.

Nick, perceptive as ever, decided to indulge her desire for distraction. “A lot of people don't like that Geneva used to be McDonough’s assistant,” he explained.

“Exactly!” said Vadim, pointing an emphatic finger at Nick. “He was synth all that time, and she never noticed? She is blind or also synth. Either way, terrible choice for mayor.” He went on to explain in detail all the flaws he saw in the other candidates, not even slowing down when serving drinks to other thirsty customers: Codman cared only about making more money; Sheng was just a punk kid; and Ellie - no offense intended, Vadim assured Nick - Ellie simply didn’t have the experience necessary to run the city. By the time he was finished, Grace was halfway through her drink. Nick kept pace with her exactly.

One of the less patient customers chimed in, “Maybe you should run for mayor, Vadim, if it’d get you to shut the hell up.”

“Maybe I should!” Vadim bellowed, pounding his fist on the bar. “Why not? I run this bar. I know everyone in this town, all their problems, all their dreams.” When Grace chuckled, he wagged a finger at her. “Now you - you would make a good mayor, my friend. Tell you what: you run for office, and all your drinks will be on me.”

“Tell you what,” Grace replied, “I'll pay you extra if you never bring up that idea ever again.” She took out a gold pocket watch she'd scavenged and set it on the bar. Vadim was so distracted by the treasure, he didn't speak again as she hurriedly gulped down the rest of her beer and headed for the door. Nick grabbed his hat and followed her. 

As Nick donned his hat and adjusted the lapels on his trench coat, he said, “I'd ask if you're okay, but you're obviously not. And I'm guessing I already know the reason.”

Grace groaned. “ _ Please,  _ Nick - don't. Not right now.”

“If not now, when?” he muttered, but when Grace angrily turned to him, he just said, “Will you be okay getting home? Need an escort?”

The question was so stereotypically Nick that Grace had to laugh. She shook her head. “I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk. Besides, I don't think I'm ready to go home yet.”

Though he looked trepidatious, Nick didn't object. Instead, he placed a reassuring hand on Grace's shoulder - a rare gesture. Grace briefly marveled at the sensation of cool plastic and, beneath that, metal strong enough to crush bones. “Look, I don’t think there are any right answers here, kid,” he said, catching her hazel eyes with his yellow-orange stare. “The trick is figuring out which answer is the least wrong. And I won't pretend that will be easy. But, if it makes you feel better, I'm here for you no matter what.” He stepped back and adjusted his fedora. “Well, once I get back from this case, anyway.”

Smiling, Grace shook her head with disbelief. “The Commonwealth doesn’t deserve someone as chivalrous as you, you know that?”

Instead of answering right away, Nick gave one of his signature crooked smiles and pulled out a cigarette. “See you around, kid.” He lit up his smoke as he started walking away.

Grace decided to head out to The Wall for a spell. Out there, by the brahmin paddock and the corn fields, it was easier to see the stars that blinked and twinkled in the same places they had 210 years ago. A few brahmin snorted and stamped their feet as Grace walked by, but otherwise it was mostly quiet; the echoes of the city bustle blended together out here into a calming white noise, like waves on the shore. Grace ran her hand along the cool, smooth surface of The Wall for a while, then sat down and leaned against it, craning her head up.

After a second, she recognized the question-mark curve of Leo’s head, and from there she traced its body. Then she picked out the Big Dipper, and followed it up to the Little Dipper and the North Star. When she was a kid, stargazing had been a hobby of hers - though, back then, the light pollution had been so widespread it was difficult to find a place with an unsullied view. Now, almost everywhere she went, the night sky vaulted overhead like rich, blue-black velvet studded with countless gems. The temperature was dropping quickly; it was one of those cold spring nights that still had traces of winter in it. Grace pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her breath clouded a bit when she exhaled, and her brain was pleasantly fuzzy from the beer. She closed her eyes and imagined slipping silently into the glittery waters of the Milky Way that stretched above her.

The sound of someone approaching brought Grace back down to earth, and she instinctively reached for the gun that - for once - she wasn’t carrying. She gathered her feet beneath her, one hand braced against The Wall, preparing to run or attack. It wasn’t until she recognized the red coat and flat cap that she relaxed. “What are you doing out here, Piper?” she asked, sitting back again.

“Nick dropped by a little while ago - he said you might need someone to check up on you,” Piper said as she picked her way through the carrot beds to reach Grace. “Man, you really did not want to be found, did you?”

Whereas previously Grace had been amused and flattered, now she was just irritated. “Christ, when will he learn to leave well enough alone?” she grumbled. “It’s not even that cold out.”

“He wouldn’t be a very good detective if he knew when to drop something,” Piper said, sitting down next to Grace. Her pale skin took on an uncanny sheen in the silver starlight, almost like the early generation synths. She took one of Grace’s calloused hands in hers and held it to her cheek. “And it may not be that cold, but you’re still freezing. C’mon, let’s go home - I saw you almost falling asleep out here.”

Instead of getting up, Grace leaned her head on Piper’s shoulder. “I wasn’t falling asleep. I was thinking,” she said.

Piper rested her cheek against the top of Grace’s head. “What’s eating you, Blue? You’ve been all out of sorts ever since you got to Diamond City.”

“Shaun,” Grace replied, her tongue loosened by alcohol and sleepiness, before she could restrain herself. “I searched for him for  _ so long _ … the things I did to find him…” Her throat closed up with emotion, which was just as well - she did not want a drunken ramble to be how she revealed the truth to Piper.

Piper threw her arm around Grace’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. “He's your son - of  _ course  _ you'd do anything to save him. I'd expect nothing less from you.” She kissed Grace's forehead. “I suppose, now that the search is over, you finally have time to think about all that ugly stuff, huh?”

While Piper wasn’t entirely correct, she wasn't completely incorrect, either. Grace sighed and leaned in to Piper, relishing the warmth of her closeness. “I want to do what's best for Shaun, but I have no idea what that is,” she admitted. 

“Can I make a suggestion?” When Grace looked up curiously, Piper said, “Moping in a cold field isn't what's best - for Shaun or for you.” She stood and held out a hand to help Grace to her feet. This time, Grace complied.

Still holding hands, the two women wandered back to the main drag. By this time of night, the city security were virtually the only people still out. The guards politely ignored Grace and Piper as they passed by, or just nodded in acknowledgement. “I should check on Shaun,” Grace mused.

“Should I wait up for you?” Piper asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

After a moment’s consideration, Grace smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.” She cupped Piper’s chin with her free hand and kissed her. “I'll be right there,” she said, giving Piper's hand a final squeeze before parting. She headed to the small house that she'd bought a while ago, which had until recently served merely as a flophouse and storage space. Inside, the light was still on and music played softly over a battered radio - the one Shaun had repaired with his friend. She scanned the main room and quickly spotted Shaun and MacCready; they were both asleep on the lumpy orange sofa she'd acquired when she realized, after bringing Shaun here, that the space was severely lacking furniture. MacCready was sleeping upright, his head slumped forward against his lean chest, while Shaun used his leg as a pillow. Next to them lay several abandoned comic books. 

Grace pressed a finger to her lips to silence Dogmeat, who'd trotted excitedly from his sleeping corner to greet her, tail wagging. After giving Dogmeat some hello scratches, she tiptoed over to MacCready and placed a hand on his shoulder. Despite her attempt to rouse him gently, he started awake. Once he recognized Grace, he relaxed with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Past your bedtime, apparently,” Grace whispered in reply, running an affectionate hand through his thick hazelnut-brown hair. “And his.” She nodded to Shaun, who fortunately slept much more soundly and hadn’t stirred at all. “Here - let’s get you two upstairs.” Carefully, she picked up Shaun; he was heavier than she expected, but she had no idea if that was because he was a synth or because she just wasn’t familiar with children.

As MacCready tidied up the discarded comics and switched off the radio, Grace carried Shaun up to the sleeping loft and lay him down on the little pallet she’d set up for him. She tucked him in and turned around to find MacCready had followed her up to the loft. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Bed time for us too, huh?” he asked.

“Sorry, hon, Piper called dibs for tonight.”

MacCready pouted. “Oh, I see how it is - you just keep me around for the free childcare.”

Grace stuck out her tongue and gently smushed MacCready’s face with her hand. “Shut up. I love you.” She gave him a kiss, removing his arms from around her waist as she did so. “Sleep well.”

“I will -  _ alone _ .”

MacCready melodramatically sunk onto the bed, but Grace had learned long ago not to indulge his histrionics. She just rolled her eyes as she descended to the main room, exited the house, and made the short walk to Piper’s residence, which was attached to the  _ Publick Occurrences  _ office. Letting herself in, Grace found that Piper had shed her coat and hat and was wearing just her undershirt. Piper opened her mouth to speak, but Grace silenced her with a kiss. Piper took the hint, and for the rest of the night not a word passed between them.

~*~*~

One day, Grace asked MacCready if she could accompany him on his next trip to Goodneighbor. As nice as life was in Diamond City, with secure walls and loved ones nearby, her skin was crawling from the lack of things to  _ do _ . Her mind was like a chained dog with only one bone to worry, and she was getting sick of going over that one issue again and again with no resolution in sight. No wonder MacCready kept making sojourns out there; otherwise he’d go stir-crazy.

Taking Shaun was out of the question. Fortunately, Piper readily agreed to watch him while Grace was gone, and Goodneighbor was only a couple miles away. If they didn't run into any serious trouble along the way, she and MacCready would easily be there and back in a day. It never hurt to be prepared, though, so when they set out early in the morning they carried their weapons, plenty of ammo, and a bit of food and water. After a bit of debate, Grace decided to leave Dogmeat behind, to keep Shaun company if she was late returning. 

“Be careful out there,” the guard at the front gate said as MacCready and Grace turned north and east. They followed the outside of The Wall for a bit, then struck out towards Boston Commons, winding between the ruined buildings at an easy, cautious pace. This route was relatively well-traveled - but that meant raiders knew it would likely have targets. Ambushes were always a danger.

As they approached the solid, imposing stone structure of the old library, MacCready stopped short and gestured for Grace to do the same. He pointed at the second story of a building across the street, then jerked his head to silently indicate,  _ Let’s go around. _ Grace peered at the window that he’d pointed to, and after a moment she saw the reason for his concern: someone had hung a cloth up to obscure the interior, but if she looked closely she could see something small and metallic protruding from the makeshift curtain. She scanned the area in front of the building and noticed that it had been cleared of debris around the entrance - so anyone hiding inside could leap out easily - while the street just down the way had some barriers erected to slow anyone fleeing the area.

MacCready turned to go around the far side of the library, but Grace put out a hand to stop him. “This is right on a caravan route,” she whispered, reaching for her rifle slung over her back.

“Are you serious?” MacCready hissed. “This is supposed to be a day trip. Why are we sticking our necks out for caravans that are gonna have guards anyway?”

“The guards won’t have eyes as good as yours.”

MacCready quirked an eyebrow. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” He unslung his own rifle and followed Grace as she crept at an oblique angle towards the ambush. When they were closer, they paused behind the burnt-out wreck of a car and surveyed the situation in more detail. The building, an old storefront with residential space on the second floor, was on the corner of a T-intersection. On one side of the building was a large display window, the glass long since gone. Though they didn’t see any movement, they knew from experience that the gunman they’d spotted would have comrades. “I’d have a clear shot from up there,” MacCready said, indicating some rusted, skeletal scaffolding, “if we could get them in front of that big window.”

“If I approach from over there, the sniper won’t have an angle on me. I can try to draw them out, plus whoever’s hiding on the ground floor.”

“How many you think are in there?”

Grace shrugged. There was only one way to find out. As MacCready clambered up the rickety scaffold, Grace stowed her rifle in favor of her pistol and slunk towards the storefront. Back pressed against the wall of the building, she strained her ears to hear voices speaking softly in the gloom of the interior. After a moment’s listening, she caught MacCready’s eye and held up three fingers. He nodded and raised his rifle to his shoulder. Picking up a fist-sized chunk of rubble, she tossed it through the window.

“You hear that?” a male voice asked. Grace heard footsteps approaching and flicked off her pistol’s safety.

A female voice responded, “Cassius didn’t give the signal - ” The crack of MacCready’s rifle cut her cut her off. Grace heard a strangled cry, a frantic scramble, and MacCready fired again. Vaulting through the display window, Grace took quick aim at the third raider still lurking in the back of the room and squeezed off three rounds; the raider dropped before she’d managed to unholster her weapon. Grace ducked behind the old front counter in case the sniper came down from the second floor, but after waiting several seconds there was no sign of him. He was smarter than some raiders, it seemed.

Taking a steadying breath, Grace made her way to the stairs in the back of the building, gingerly stepping over the body of the woman she’d just killed. The second floor was a one-bedroom apartment; a quick scan showed the kitchen and living room were clear, so Grace tiptoed to the closed door that presumably led to the bedroom. She paused and adjusted her grip on her gun. She knew that the sniper knew that she was coming for him. No doubt he was waiting, rifle at the ready, for her to come through that door. She might be able to get him, if she were fast enough. 

She kicked in the door. The roar of the rifle in the confined space made her ears ring. Two shots from her pistol downed the sniper, and two more finished him off.

As her sense of hearing slowly returned, Grace became vaguely aware of MacCready coming up the stairs behind her. “You should have waited for me,” he scolded. His voice sounded muddy and distant. “Are you okay?”

He reached out and gently touched her right ear; she flinched, realizing the sniper had grazed her. Turning, she saw the bullet hole in the crumbling wall behind her. MacCready gave her a handkerchief, which she pressed to her ear to stop the bleeding as he inspected the dead man for anything useful or valuable. Finding nothing of note, he sighed. “And we won't even get any thanks from the caravans because they never knew they were in danger in the first place,” he mused. When Grace didn't give her usual pithy reply, he furrowed his brow. “What's the matter? Did you get hit anywhere else?”

Grace shook her head. Her ear throbbed and burned. “That was really stupid of me.”

“Yeah, it was. Maybe not the stupidest thing you've done, but it’s up there.”

Grace's thoughts turned to Shaun. “Joseph, if something happened to me - if I got killed…”

“I’d take care of Shaun. Me and Piper.” MacCready tenderly pulled Grace’s hand away from her ear to inspect the damage and smiled reassuringly. “You don’t even have to ask.”

“No, I know that,” Grace pressed the handkerchief to her ear again. “But if you’re going to do that, there’s something you need to know. About Shaun.” Ignoring MacCready’s concerned look, she pressed on before she could second-guess herself. “He’s a synth.”

For several agonizing seconds, the only sound was the cawing of crows, attracted by the sounds of gunfire, looking for a fresh meal. Finally, MacCready asked in a quiet voice, “How do you know? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I saw them use the recall code on him while I was in the Institute.”

“And the real Shaun - ”

“He died,” Grace interrupted, her voice breaking. “He died a long time ago.” It was true, in a way. She kept her gaze fixed on the toes of her boots; there was a splatter of fresh blood on the right one, but she didn’t know if it was her blood or someone else’s. Once again, the crows were the only ones who spoke - closer this time. Then MacCready gathered her into a long embrace, and she wondered why she had ever worried. Of course he would understand. How could he not? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Not gonna lie, I am pissed at you about that.” MacCready squeezed Grace tighter. “But I’m the last person allowed to judge you for bad parenting choices.” Grace snorted, despite herself.

As they stripped the other three dead raiders of their loot, Grace kept waiting for MacCready to raise the same questions, the same issues, that Nick had pointed out. But he didn’t - in fact, MacCready didn’t say much of anything. Grace wondered if it was because he was waiting for a better time to discuss them, or if they genuinely hadn’t occurred to him yet. Perhaps it didn’t matter; what did matter was that now she had someone with whom she could share this peculiar burden. If he didn’t bring it up, she would, when she was ready. For now she’d give him more time to process what he’d just learned.

The rest of the journey was uneventful, and about an hour later they reached the front gate of Goodneighbor, its neon signs as gaudy as always. It was still relatively early - not quite lunchtime yet - and many of the city’s residents were still asleep, or just rousing themselves after a late night, blinking resentfully at the bright spring sun. It was warm enough that Grace was sweating a bit, and she’d long since rolled up the sleeves and unfastened the top few buttons of her green flannel shirt.

“Something take a bite outta you?” the guard by the front gate asked, gesturing at Grace's mangled ear, which by now had scabbed over. The dried rivulets of blood running down her neck were starting to flake away. 

“Some raiders thought it'd be a good idea to set up an ambush by the library,” she explained.

The guard, a ghoul in a gray three-piece suit, threw back his head and laughed. “Lemme guess - ‘you should see the other guy!’”

“Other guys,” MacCready corrected, never turning up an opportunity to brag. “Four of ‘em.”

“Eh, I'm sure that's peanuts for the likes of you.” The guard somehow managed to sound complimentary and insulting at the same time.

Since it was still too early in the day to visit the Third Rail, MacCready and Grace headed to Daisy's store to catch up on the latest gossip or possibly get a lead on a job. As soon as they stepped through the doorway, she practically exploded with excitement. “MacCready!” she rasped, “It's about damn time you got your ass over here!” Before he could reply, Daisy darted upstairs to her living quarters and, after a few moments, came thundering back down with a slip of paper in hand. “My caravan guy came back two days ago - he said this was for you.” She held out the message. “I don’t know what it says.”

With a shellshocked expression on his face, MacCready took the paper and unfolded it with trembling hands. Grace held her breath as he read its contents. He met her gaze. “The medicine - it worked,” he said. “Duncan is cured.”

Daisy slapped the counter with her hand. “That's great news, MacCready! I'm so happy for you!”

He wasn't listening, however, as he and Grace were embracing with the ferocity that comes from profound relief. They showered each other with kisses, laughing all the while. “Oh my god, Grace, thank you so much,” he said. “I couldn't have found that cure without you.” He stiffened as a realization came over him, and his expression grew serious. “I have to go back for him.”

Grace's ear stung; during their rough jubilation, it had started bleeding again.


End file.
